Chuck vs The Underground
by TheCharacter
Summary: His world threatens to dissolve. In his mind, he stands on a precarious bridge between treason and death. He's too faithful to give in, and too valuable to kill. But the only option left is the pain.
1. Chapter 1

"Bartowski, what's your status?"

Casey's earpiece crackled softly in his ear as Chuck answered him. "I am approaching the vault."

Casey grunted as though in affirmation. He glanced quickly over his shoulder to make sure his partner was still close behind him—just far enough to catch the blonde of her hair in his periphery—and crept closer to the corner they hid behind, weapon drawn close to his chest. His earpiece crackled again, the static louder this time.

"Two guards in the corridor," Chuck informed.

Casey released his gun with his left hand and held his wrist to his mouth. "Be careful, Bartowski. We're getting interference on your end." He waited, but there was no reply.

"What does that mean?" Walker whispered from behind him.

Casey grunted again, his apprehension clear. "Could mean anything. Ready, Walker?"

"Ready."

Casey peered around the corner swiftly, taking notice of the three black-suited men down the hall, before he retreated behind the corner again as quickly as he could. An well-rehearsed stealth move; if any of the guards had spotted him, he was momentarily protected. He waited a split second for their reaction. None came. He turned his chin over his shoulder again and whispered, "Three guards, end of the hall." He adjusted his feet under him. "Come on, Bartowski," he grunted between his teeth.

He heard Walker's intake of breath and felt his eyes roll slightly of their own accord. _Typical._ It was just like Walker lately to hold her breath for Chuck instead of focusing on her own end of the mission.

Static barked in his ear. "-uar-n-al-z'd."

Walker's panted out a short, anxious breath, but Casey couldn't let himself think about it much. It was time to move.

"Focus, Walker. Let's do this." He took a steadying breath of his own and darted into action. With hard-trained accuracy and precision, they fired their silenced weapons down the hall at the guards. The men turned quickly as the agents rounded the corner, each reaching for his own weapon, but it didn't matter; the element of surprise worked in the agents' favor, and all three men fell to the ground with varying grunts.

Casey and Walker ran silently down the hall. Casey aimed his weapon once more at one of the guards, who was still stirring and groaning on the floor, and silenced him with a clean shot to the head. They continued past them without stopping until they reached the next corner, taking up their defensive position anew before they repeated an identical maneuver on two more guards down the next hall.

As Casey and Walker reached their latest victims-their final obstacle before Keuer's office-Walker dipped down beside one of the men and pulled a blood-splattered ID card off the front of his suit. She passed it quickly to Casey and immediately placed her hand on the door handle. With a quick glance between them, Casey scanned the card over a black scanner pad to the side of the door and dropped the card, gripping his firearm in both hands once again. Walker turned the handle, pulling it open, and Casey moved inside.

Casey quickly scanned the right side of the room, floor to ceiling, looking for more guards, and found none. Behind him, he trusted that Walker had done the same to the left. He turned toward the large, ornate desk at the rear center of the office, noting that although Keuer was nowhere to be seen, his office chair was still spinning from it's occupant's hasty departure mere moments before. His eyes were drawn immediately to an open door in the far right corner: Keuer's only possible escape.

Casey and Walker approached the exit quickly in pursuit of Keuer. Casey held his transmitter to his mouth again as he ran. "Bartowski! Update!" He came to the door and faced an uncomfortably narrow hallway, rather industrial in nature, constructed of unpainted cinderblock walls. Walker close behind him, he ran several more steps, waiting for Chuck's response. It never came.

The apprehension in his gut turned sharply into a knot. "Bartowski! Keuer's making an escape. Do you have the hard drive or not?"

He slowed slightly as he reached the corner in the narrow hallway. He turned his body before he cleared the end of the wall, feet crossing swiftly one over the other to carry him sideways whilst squaring his shoulders toward his target, anticipating a shootout. He aimed carefully down the sights, automatically sweeping his aim steadily from one side of the hallway to the other, but this side of the hallway was empty, too. He picked up the pace again, running as quickly as he could without compromising his grip on the weapon, until he reached the end of the hallway where it widened to accommodate a staircase; one flight of stairs ascended toward the roof, and the other descended to the floors below.

Chuck still had not checked in. It had been far too long since he'd last communicated with the rest of the team, and Casey knew immediately that that meant trouble. Which fashion of trouble, he could only guess, but his felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to lift, a slight tingle running upward toward his crown.

"Should we split up?" Walker panted out as they came to a stop at the stairwell. "You go up, and I'll go down."

Casey grunted. He didn't know how to respond. Should they stay together for backup and support, or accept a heightened risk while increasing the likelihood of apprehending their target?

 _What a stupid question,_ he chastised himself. He had always taken pride in his "country-first" attitude. If there was a greater chance to catch Keuer if they separated, then that was undoubtedly worth the greater risk.

"Split up," he affirmed. "If we don't catch him now, we won't catch him at all. And Walker?"

Walker halted a few steps down and looked up at him, several steps up.

"Apprehend Keuer. We'll save Bartowski afterwards."

Walker's expression hardened.

Casey growled. There was no time for this. "If Keuer is on the roof, then you can go find Chuck," he ground out, every syllable wrapped in cynicism. "If he's not, you go find Keuer, and I'll catch up to you."

Sarah nodded curtly, her lips pressed together in a thin line; then she turned and hurried down the stairs. Casey grunted in vague disapproval and pushed Walker and Bartowski to the rear his mind. He had to. His gaze and his aim returned up the stairs, feet taking two steps at a time. He rounded the landing and saw a heavy steel door at the top of the flight. His face stiffened into a growl as he aggressively pounded up the stairs. He reached for the knob and simultaneously threw his weight into the door.

The door gave way immediately, swinging open onto the rooftop. Casey hurried to raise his weapon as he passed through the doorway, but he never got it all the way up. Without warning, something hard and heavy collided with his temple.

His vision blacked out. His knees gave under his weight. His weapon dropped from his hands, and he felt the cold gravel rooftop meet the side of his face.


	2. Chapter 2

_You got this, Chuck._

He didn't know why he still told himself that. It never helped. Not even once. It just served to make him more nervous, more hesitant.

 _What if I don't got this?_

That question always led down a very dark road.

 _Well, then you don't get past the bad guys. If you don't get past the bad guys, you don't get the hard drive. If you don't get the hard drive, Keuer sells all of the CIA's most valuable secrets to the highest bidder and disappears in a dark cloud of chaos and billions of dollars to fund some other plot to screw over the known universe._

That sounded just awesome.

 _Plus,_ his brain reminded him, _if you didn't get past the bad guys, it's probably because they killed you._

Please stop.

 _Also, they're probably going after Sarah now._

For the love of God—

 _And they're probably gonna kill her, too._

"Shut up!" he snapped at himself, and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth as if it would stop the echo from reverberating down the hallway.

 _Idiot._

He stood absolutely still—stiller than a statue—as the remnants of his voice died off, waiting for the sound of boots or voices or handgun slides or any other indicator that he had just blown the whole operation. Moments passed and, mercifully, he heard nothing. He slowly lowered his hand.

 _You definitely don't got this._

He ignored his brain's latest comment and raised his tranq gun again, resuming a deliberate stance and turning his mind back toward his current mission. He consulted his memory, playing back a flash of the building's blueprint. _Take the next right._ His eyes settled on a corner down the hall, where a tributary corridor met the hallway he currently haunted.

Furtively, he advanced toward the corner and paused, listening closely for the sounds of footsteps or voices before he glanced around the corner, finding yet another empty stretch of hallway.

 _This is wrong._

Casey's voice growled in his ear. "Bartowski, what's your status?"

Chuck took a quick inhale. _You're not here alone._ Casey's super-spy voice could not have come at a better moment. He consulted his mental blueprint again. If it was accurate, the vault was down the hallway and to the left. He raised the transmitter on his wrist to his mouth, muttering as clearly and quietly as he could. "I am approaching the vault."

He began padding down the hallway again, injecting confidence into his footsteps. _Trust the Intersect,_ he encouraged himself. This tactic worked to soothe his ever-timid mind far better. He was approaching his next turn, and he bent his knees a little lower, slowing to a foot-over-foot creep that he had inherited from his handlers.

He could hear muttering voices; he knew even before he looked that there were guards in the next hall. He leaned his head slowly around the corner to catch a glimpse of them. Two broad-shouldered men in black suits stood menacingly in front of a pair of heavy-looking double doors, with obvious bulges in their jacket pockets. They were turned slightly toward each other, conversing in low, serious tones.

Chuck felt the muscles between his brows twitch. _Only two?_ He leaned back behind the corner quickly, raising his wrist to his mouth again. "Two guards in the corridor," he whispered, his voice monotonous.

Casey's voice sounded staticky as he responded. "Be careful, Bartowski. We're getting interference on your end."

 _Yeah, on your end, too._

Apprehension gripped his chest. Every one of his instincts was telling him to abort the mission, but even to him that sounded ridiculous. No one ever complained that a mission was too easy. Casey would ridicule him, General Beckman would probably suspend him, and Sarah...

He didn't even want to contemplate what Sarah would think.

He took a breath and looked down at his tranq gun, gripping it with surety. As he focused intently on the weapon, he felt his eyelids flutter.

 _Targets. Sights. Trigger weight. Shots. Recoil. Follow through._

A smirk tugged at his lips as he looked up from the gun. _I got this._

He straightened swiftly from his crouch and stepped from behind the wall. One of the guards saw him and squared himself, reaching inside his jacket for his gun. The other guard reacted a fraction of a second later, pivoting on his heel to face him, but both of them were too late. Chuck effortlessly straightened his arms, his eyes instantly finding his target beyond the far sight of his gun. He squeezed the trigger once, letting the minor recoil serve to line up the sights on his other target as he fired the second shot mere milliseconds after the first.

Both men stumbled as the tranquilizer took effect, falling into unconscious heaps on the ground.

Chuck let a breath pass smoothly through his lips as he lowered his gun, his smirk growing more pronounced. He raised his wrist to his mouth again as he strode toward the double doors. "Guards neutralized." He holstered his tranq gun as he walked and bent down to retrieve an ID badge from one of the guards. He scanned the badge over the black pad beside the door and turned the handle.

As he stepped into the room beyond the doors, he looked around. The room was dimly lit and exceptionally bare except for a large, menacing steel door directly in front of him. To the side of the door, there was a small screen with a fingerprint scanner.

"I've reached the vault," he informed through his transmitter, and he reached into a pocket on his vest, retrieving a small black case: a CIA fingerprint bypass kit.

He unzipped the case as he knelt by the door. It contained two small canisters, a pair of gloves, a small penlight and several print-lifting strips. He quickly pulled on the gloves and picked up both canisters. He held the penlight to them to see which was which, keeping the one with the red stripe while dropping the other back into the kit. He straightened and aimed the nozzle at the edge of the door above the circular, wheel-style handle.

 _"Ignore the handle,"_ Sarah had told him when she demonstrated how to use the kit. _"You'll never get clean prints there. Focus on the edge of the door, just above the handle. That's where Keuer probably puts his hand to close the door when he leaves."_

Chuck pressed the top of the canister and a fine cloud of graphite engulfed the edge of the door. He leaned in and blew on the area gently, clearing off the excess powder, leaving several overlapping handprints. He shined the penlight on the prints, looking for a good thumbprint to lift. He smiled as he found one and reached for a print-lifting strip.

Carefully opening the strip with his gloved hands, he retrieved the other canister—the one with the green stripe—and misted the white half of the strip lightly with a clear liquid. Turning the strip around, he lined up the clear part of the strip over the thumbprint and pressed it down firmly, rubbing his fingers over it to ensure that the whole print was lifted. With a swift tug, he pulled the strip from the door and folded it closed again, clear section adhering to the white section.

He watched for a moment, fascinated as the lines of the thumbprint puffed up minutely, forming realistic ridges in the strip. He hastily threw his supplies back in the kit and put it back in his pocket before he straightened up, still holding Keuer's fake finger print. He blew out a quick breath. _I hope this works._

Without further delay, he pressed the strip over the fingerprint scanner and waited for the laser to make its pass. The screen above the scanner lit up, displaying a photo of Keuer and a green banner that said "Access Granted." He heard a heavy metallic thud as the locks in the door retracted, and a relieved smile lit up his face as he reached and turned the circular handle.

"I'm in," he said into his transmitter as he pulled the heavy steel door toward him.

As the door swung open, the lights inside automatically turned on. Chuck strode around the door, pulling the gloves from his hands as he went, before he looked up, and he immediately froze in place. A man, dressed in a stylish and expensive grey suit, with perfectly groomed brown hair combed neatly to the side, stood in the middle of the vault.

He reached for his tranq gun, still sheathed on his hip, but Keuer held a pistol up and pointed it at his head.

"I don't think that will be necessary, Agent Carmichael," Keuer sneered coldly.

Chuck slowly released the grip of his gun and raised his hands, his breath quickening, his heart hammering in his chest. He heard multiple clicks echo inside the steel vault and he startled, looking over one shoulder then the other as four men, dressed in identical black suits, advanced on him from the corners of the vault on either side. He looked back at Keuer and swallowed.

"Let me tell you what's going to happen," Keuer said, taking a step toward Chuck. "You are going to come with us."

"Am I?" Chuck countered. He knew he had to flash. He had to flash and get out of this mess. But at the moment, he couldn't see how.

Keuer's eyes narrowed. "There is no need for rudeness here, Charles. May I call you Charles?"

He paused for a fraction of a second, but Chuck knew it was only for dramatic effect. Keuer continued before Chuck had the chance to answer him.

"You _will_ come with us, Charles, one way or another."

Chuck swallowed again. "Is this one of those, "we can do this the easy way or the hard way" speeches? Because frankly, I was never a big fan of those."

Keuer chuckled once and shrugged. "Look around you. There are five guns trained on you right now. Not one of us will hesitate to pull the trigger."

"Where's the hard drive, Keuer?"

Keuer smiled again and shook his head, closing the remainder of the distance between them one step at a time, until he stood uncomfortably close. Chuck resolutely kept eye contact with Keuer, raising his chin only the slightest amount when Keuer shoved the weapon up under his jaw.

"I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Charles," Keuer said more softly, and he leaned in a little. "I never _had_ all the CIA's best-kept secrets."

Chuck swallowed. He knew what was coming next.

"But now," Keuer continued, a victorious smile spreading across his face, "I do."

 _Now's the time, Chuck,_ he told himself. As he focused on Keuer's scathing grin, a series of images streamed before his eyes. _Chinese symbols, punches, kicks, spins, grapples._

He stepped forward quickly between Keuer's feet and planted his knee behind Keuer's, sending him to the ground. Immediately, he spun around, a well-aimed crescent kick knocking three of the four guns behind him aside, their owners stumbling under the force. The fourth man leapt backwards to avoid Chuck's attack, compromising his posture such that Chuck could take him out with a jump kick.

Spinning again, he saw that one of the men had recovered and was raising his gun at him again. He caught the man's wrist, directing his motion into an overbalance, and brought his knee up sharply into the man's face, his nose crunching gruesomely. He directed a side kick at Keuer and sent him back to the ground. A pair of arms grabbed him around his neck from behind, and he instinctively reached up to grip them. He bent his knees and threw his weight forward, and the guard toppled over his head, landing heavily on his back at Chuck's feet.

Suddenly, a silenced shot rang out and Chuck felt a pinch in his upper arm. "Ah," gasped, not in pain but rather in surprise, and reached his other hand up to his arm. A small dart protruded from the black fabric of his shirt.

The effects were immediate. Wooziness set in, causing the world to blur and tilt. He felt himself stumble to the side as he looked up at a guard, who advanced upon him with his gun trained on his chest. Gathering the remainder of his strength, Chuck took quick sidestep and directed a roundhouse kick at him. The man jumped back, and the kick failed to land.

As Chuck brought his leg back into chamber, he overbalanced and stumbled backward. A sharp, downward blow landed on his shoulder and, with a shout of pain, Chuck collapsed onto the ground.

Groggily, he looked up to see two of the guards and Keuer leaning over him. Keuer looked to be in pain, but that didn't wipe the smug grin from his face.

Keuer raised a hand and waved his fingers at Chuck condescendingly as his vision began to cloud. "Sleep well, Charlie," he sang, and with a few final blinks, Chuck's consciousness faded out.


	3. Chapter 3

_Catch Keuer. Catch Keuer. Don't think about Chuck; catch Keuer._

No matter how many times she played the mantra in her head, she knew that she couldn't put emotion aside; and for that reason alone, she knew that she wasn't really trying to.

Her feet thundered down the stairs. She was approaching the ground floor, but the stairs continued down: there were two sublevels under the building. And Chuck was down in one of them.

She halted and oscillated on the landing, head whipping back and forth between the door and the stairs. Ground floor or basement? Which way would Keuer have gone? Where was Chuck now? And more importantly, did she have Casey's permission to go after him?

 _Casey,_ she realized suddenly, and she raised her transmitter to her mouth. "Casey, what's the status on Keuer?"

She waited.

And waited.

 _Ten seconds,_ she thought to herself, _give him ten seconds._

 _Seven..._

 _Eight..._

 _Nine..._

"Casey!" she repeated more urgently. "What is the status on Keuer?"

Her breath began to feel labored as the seconds drained away. She turned her head toward the door to the ground level. _Keuer._ Then she turned toward the stairs. _Chuck._

Her instincts took over and took her feet with them. With every ounce of speed in her, she raced down the stairs. She jump the last several steps onto the landing and grabbed hold of the metal railing, swinging herself around to take on the next flight. _Subfloor 1._ She kept going, trying not to lose her footing as she raced down the stairs, until she saw the final door. _Subfloor 2._

She grabbed the handle and pulled, sinking into her second-nature tactical stance. She raised her weapon and aimed it down the hall, fully prepared to fire. The hall was empty.

As she began to run down the hallway, she realized she didn't know the layout of the subfloors. _Damn it_ , she cursed in her head. Where was the vault in this God-forsaken maze?

The tension in her chest began to build higher, until she remembered: Chuck had taken out two guards.

She didn't have any more time to think. She'd know it when she saw it.

Abandoning all attempts at stealth, she began racing down the hallway, looking down every secondary corridor that she passed until her path came to an end and she was forced to turn right. She continued her sprint, pausing only long enough to clear the hallways.

Then, she saw them.

Not two unconscious guards.

She saw a small entourage of men escorting a stretcher down the hall away from her.

 _Is that Chuck?_

She couldn't see. She could tell that _someone_ was lying on the stretcher, but she had no way of knowing if that was Chuck or some other poor unfortunate mixed up in Keuer's plans. She couldn't go in if she wasn't sure. This was _Chuck_. _Her Chuck._ For the second time in five minutes, she was frozen in place, unable to come to a decision as the five men limped away toward an elevator at the end of the hall.

 _Limped?_

She refocused her eyes. Indeed, at least two of the men were limping.

Her feet took off toward the men. "Freeze!" she shouted, raising her weapon at them.

All five of the men turned around, drawing their weapons from under their jackets and aiming in her direction. A shot rang out, and she startled, tightening her grip on the trigger before an invisible force seemed to stop her.

 _Chuck._

 _Chuck is with them._

 _What if I miss?_

Another shot whipped by her head as she hesitated, and she darted to her left, taking cover behind a corner and pressing her back to the wall as she panted heavily. _Damn it, Sarah Walker_ , she cursed herself. _You're a spy! You don't miss!_ She raised her weapon to her chest, clenching her teeth as she waited for an opening.

"Don't just stand there," a commanding voice ordered. "Kill her!"

Sarah heard footsteps. _Now or never._ She rolled back toward the corner, straightening her weapon at the two men approaching. She squeezed off two well-aimed shots, and both men stumbled and fell to the ground.

Beyond the two remaining guards, she could see a single man pushing the gurney away down the hall. _No._ Without thinking, she let her feet shift into gear, preparing to run after them, but another shot echoed in the hall before she could move.

A high-pitched cry tore from her lungs as the shot pierced her upper left arm. She almost dropped her gun as she leaned forward, cradling her arm into her side. Above the blood rushing in her ears, she distantly heard another deafening shot and felt the energy of the round pass close by her on the other side. With another small yelp, she stumbled backwards and around the corner again, dropping to one knee as she panted heavily in her agony.

"Fuck!" she ground out between her teeth. Maintaining her grip on her weapon with her right hand, she pressed her wrist into the wound and let out a guttural groan.

Faintly, she heard the man at the end of hall swearing as he hammered at the elevator button.

Panic and urgency rose in her chest, and with another groan she wrestled herself to her feet. She blew out a sharp breath and gripped her gun with both hands again, stoutly ignoring the pain. She gathered her remaining strength and started to round the corner again, but a sudden blow knocked her arms to the side and sent her weapon skittering across the floor.

The pain that erupted freshly in her wound did little to hinder her reaction. Rebounding from the blow, she swung her right arm up to strike the side of the man's neck. As he grunted and stumbled backwards, she spun around and delivered a substantial kick across his face. It was apparent even before he collapsed to the ground that he was unconscious.

At the end of the hall, she heard the "ding" of the elevator bell.

Stooping to one knee to retrieve one of the fallen guards' guns, she brought the muzzle of the weapon up and squeezed the trigger before truly aiming, but the remaining guard was so close that it hardly mattered. His own shot was redirected over Sarah's head as the round pierced his chest and he stumbled backwards.

Springing to her feet, Sarah began sprinting on her toes toward the end of the hall. In the elevator, she could see the man desperately trying to maneuver the gurney clear of the door.

"Freeze!" she shouted again as the man finally managed to turn the stretcher sideways into the cubicle and leaned to press a button on the elevator panel.

As he straightened again, panting from exertion, she could see his face clearly for the first time. His hair was disheveled, his face slightly reddened, but his likeness was unmistakable.

 _Keuer._

Sarah felt her eyes widen and a slightly deeper intake of breath, even as she was running.

The elevator doors began to close.

"NO!" Sarah heard herself scream.

Keuer raised a hand, a satisfied smirk forming on his lips, and waved his fingers at her as the doors approached one another.

Sarah tried to put on an extra burst of speed, reaching out her arm to try to stop the doors, but she was too slow; at full velocity, she crashed into the elevator doors, and her forehead smacked into the metal.

She barely noticed as she backed away, horrified. She caught sight of the call button and lunged for it, pressing it repeatedly in an attempt to reopen the doors, but the elevator had already begun its ascent.

"Casey!" She shrieked into her transmitter again. "Casey, do you copy?" She barely waited for an answer. "Keuer has Chuck! I couldn't stop him, they're in the elevator!"

She didn't know if Casey could hear her. Looking around frantically, she spotted an exit sign to her right. She raced the short distance down the hall, skidding on her feet as she reached the door and rammed into it without pause. She tore into the stairwell and pounded up the stairs, two at a time.

"Casey, do you copy?"

Swinging herself around the landings, she reached the ground floor and burst through the door, aiming her weapon toward the elevator.

The elevator doors were already closing. It was empty.

Spinning around in panic, she immediately sought out the front doors and saw Keuer beyond them, pushing Chuck toward the back of a waiting van.

She could only see in slow motion as she broke into action again. Keuer was loading the gurney into the back of the van with the help of another man. As she reached the doors, Keuer and the man leapt inside, pulling the doors closed behind them. As she burst outside, the wheels on the van squealed, kicking up a spray of muck and mud as it began to move. As her momentum took her into the street where the van had been mere seconds before, she saw that it had sped away down the road.

Without thinking, she pulled the trigger at the back of the van, running across the pavement behind it. She could hear her bullets bouncing off the metal, but even from her growing distance, she could see that they didn't leave a mark.

Suddenly, the trigger locked in place and the slide of the semi-automatic locked back. Her finger continued to twitch over the trigger several times before reality settled. Her feet slowed on the pavement and brought her to a stop. She dropped her hands to her knees, gasping out sobs and tears.

"No! No, no, no, no, no, no!" She cried. She could feel her face reddening, her nose flaring, her eyes stinging, but she couldn't hear anything; not the sound of car horns, not the sound of screeching brakes, and not even the sound of her own pleas.

Though her vision was blurred, she suddenly saw the transmitter on her wrist. She raised it to her mouth.

"Casey, I lost them," she said into the watch, the tone of her voice petering out in defeat. "I lost Chuck."

Casey's voice suddenly crackled into her ear, panting and pained. "Meet me—meet me at the—extraction point."

"No! No, Casey! We have to save Chuck! We have to get him back!"

"Walker—we need to—we need to get—out of here," Casey panted weakly. "That's an—order."

A fresh sob escaped Sarah's throat, drawing out into a keen. She knew that Casey was right. She had said so herself: she lost Chuck.

Turning back the way she came, she started jogging back up the road toward Keuer's building, pain ebbing into her arm and her head, despair tightening around her throat. Then, as she ran, a devastating realization grew in her grief-stricken mind.

 _This was all my fault._


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah stared blankly at the wall, trying to ignore the pain in her arm by replaying the mission in her head.

 _This is all my fault._

She'd been the one to insist that Chuck should go to the vault. She had failed to abort the mission when their communications were lost. Precious seconds had been wasted when she'd hesitated, not once, but three times.

But it went deeper than that.

She should have gotten Chuck out of this world a long time ago. He should never have downloaded the Intersect 2.0. He should never have been on the mission to save Bryce. She should never have let her guard down and let him into her heart.

And now Keuer had him. She didn't know if he was hurt, or what they were planning to do with him. All she knew was that Keuer had him, and it was all her fault.

Casey grunted from across the room, bringing her sharply back to the moment. It was an angry grunt, mixed with blood lust and a hint of pain. Sarah darted her eyes to him quickly to see him shifting in his chair, trying to find a comfortable way to rest. His face was heavily bruised, his lip cut, and Sarah knew that he had multiple broken ribs and a concussion from his fight on the roof. Hell, he probably hurt all over; but the muscles beside his nose twitched in that unmistakable _"I'm going to kill someone"_ way that meant he was about to lie about his injuries to General Beckman in order to get back into the field.

She sighed. She envied Casey's energy, his desire to jump back into the fray. She wanted to find Chuck, too, of course. She wanted to find him, and find Keuer, and make everything right again. She wanted it more than anything. But right now...

Right now, she just felt tired, and drained, and in pain.

Her eyes landed on the bottle of painkillers on the table. The CIA medic had left them for her after he'd stitched her arm. She debated for the umpteenth time whether the hazy impairment would be worth it.

Suddenly, the monitor flashed on, and she automatically turned her head to see General Beckman seated at her desk. Her bespectacled face looked like she had been sucking on a lemon.

As quickly as she dared, Sarah stood from her chair, wincing as the movement sent sharp pains through her arm. A series of low grunts behind her told her that Casey was attempting to do the same.

"Sit down," the General ordered firmly. "I don't need either of you keeling over while we sort this mess out."

Sarah swallowed and lowered herself back into her chair.

The General folded her hands tightly on her desk and she regarded the pair of agents silently as though she didn't know what to say first. Finally, after several uncomfortable seconds, she licked her lips and began. "This is a serious development, to say the least." Her tone was not one of anger, but rather of saddened defeat.

"Yes, ma'am," the agents echoed.

"Do we have any indication as to Mr. Bartowski's whereabouts?"

"No, ma'am."

"Do we have any indication that he managed to destroy the hard drive?"

"No ma'am."

"Do either of you have anything to add to the official report?"

Sarah cleared her throat quietly. "Uh...General, I believe that the mission was a setup in order to kidnap the Intersect, and that it is...unlikely...that Keuer ever had a hard drive of government secrets."

"Based upon your report, Agent Walker, I am inclined to agree. However, since the failed mission, Keuer has continued to advertise the sale of government secrets on the Black Market."

Silence filled the room for a moment, allowing the implication to hang in the air.

Finally, Casey spoke up. "What would you like us to do, General?"

Beckman pulled in a deep breath. "Nothing."

Sarah bit her lip to keep her frustration hidden.

"You and Agent Walker have both sustained serious injuries, and my orders are for you both to rest and recover."

"General—"

"I cannot have injured agents working in the field. This is not negotiable, Colonel Casey."

"Yes, ma'am."

The General pulled in another breath. "I have appointed another team to investigate this incident and to dig up any additional intel on Keuer and his associates. They should arrive by the morning. Once you have been cleared for _light_ duty by a CIA physician, you may join them—in a _subordinate_ capacity—in locating and retrieving the Intersect. Under _no circumstances_ are either of you to work in the field until you have been cleared for active duty. Do I make myself clear?

"Yes, ma'am."

Beckman leaned back in her chair, resuming her sour expression. "That is all for the moment. See that both you do whatever is required to recover from your injuries in a timely manner."

"Yes, ma'am."

"That means go home and get some rest."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And take the damn painkillers."

Sarah swallowed, glancing at the bottle by her elbow. "Yes, ma'am."

The General gave them both one last, knowing glare before she severed the connection and the screen went dark.


	5. Chapter 5

Awareness began with an ache.

His neck and shoulders felt strained, and they ached with a vengeance.

He could feel that his head was drooped forward, his chin resting on his chest. He pulled in a breath, willing himself to move. The air smelled slightly astringent, like the traces of disinfectant one might smell in a hospital. He gathered his strength and activated his muscled, and as his head raised minutely, a painful throb rippled across the top of his head and back to the base of his skull.

He felt the muscles of his face pinch together, and a soft groan escaped him. He flexed his wrists unconsciously, but quickly recognized a strong resistance. He moved his wrists testingly in a circle and came to the realization that they were bound to something hard, one on each side. Drawing in another breath, he forced his eyes to open slightly...and he immediately wished he hadn't.

Light pierced into his eyes, all the way into the back of his skull like long, thin needles of pain. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut again, air hissing between his teeth as he took shallow breaths of the overly-clean air. His head and neck and shoulders seemed to throb in unison. He licked his lips and found that his mouth was uncomfortably dry and sticky. He tried to swallow, but that only seemed to make the stickiness worse.

 _I need water._

He felt a familiar pinching sensation in his stomach.

 _And food._

Feeling slightly more aware of his body, he took in another breath and slowly rolled his head back and forth, reintroducing movement to his neck before he pulled his head up from his chest. He slowly tilted his head back as far as he could, trying to relieve some of the strain in his shoulders, and as he did so, he felt something firm pushing gently into his middle back.

 _I'm in a chair_ , he finally realized. He circled his wrists again, managing to identify now that they were bound to the arms of the chair with straps of some kind. They felt like leather, but he wasn't sure.

Rolling his head once last time, he sat upright in the chair and tried again to open his eyes, slowly at first, blinking several times to abate the discomfort until the sensitivity passed.

He was in a bare room, hardly bigger than his bedroom, but without decor or personality. The room was largely empty; the only things there with him were a minimalistic table and a few matching chairs, and a basic sink in the corner. The door was directly in front of him, and it reminded him of the security doors in a prison: heavy-looking and metal, with a small meshed window and a combination pad above the handle.

He tried to swallow again. There was hardly anything to swallow. He looked down at his wrists and saw that the straps were, indeed, leather, with large metal buckles and a thin layer of padding around the edges to prevent chafing. They reminded him of the restraints used in insane asylums. His chair was actually a wheelchair, which was concerning in and of itself; but more alarming still was the tubing that ran down from an IV bag beside him, taped to his forearm and into a hep-lock catheter in the crook of his left elbow.

He immediately looked away in horror, feeling instantly nauseous and panicked. He fixed his gaze on the blank wall to the other side, taking short, deliberate breaths and blowing out through pursed lips. _Oh my God. This is bad. This is very, very bad._ An infinite stream of questions began to spring through his mind, each as unanswerable as the last. He thought he might throw up. The possibility was becoming more and more real as the seconds dragged by.

Suddenly, there were a series of faint tones, and the sharp sound of a mechanical lock. Chuck snapped his head toward the door to see it opening and Keuer breezing into the room, making immediate eye contact with his prisoner.

 _Keuer._

The events in the vault suddenly flooded back to him, followed by another series of questions. _How did he know I would be there? How did he know who I was? How does he know about the Intersect?_ But all of these questions seemed to fade beneath the most important question of all:

 _Did Sarah get out unharmed?_

Keuer was wearing a smirk that made Chuck's blood turn to ice. He lingered for a fraction of a second that felt like an hour, his eyes boring into Chucks with an intensity that communicated his confidence beyond any doubt. Then he turned to hold the door for the man entering the room behind him: a tall, aging man with glasses and white hair, wearing a white clinic coat and carrying what looked to be a modern toolbox.

 _Oh my God._

Chuck gulped silently as an anticipatory ache raced through his body, sweeping down his arms, down his torso, down his legs. He gripped the arms of the wheelchair in fear. A dull burning in his lungs told him that he'd stopped breathing.

"Scared already, are we, Mr. Carmichael?" Keuer chided as he closed the door behind the doctor, his inflection betraying sadistic amusement.

Chuck fought the urge to swallow again. He failed.

Turning away from the door, Keuer removed what looked to be a leather portfolio from under his arm and set it on the table. He picked up one of the chairs with one hand and moved it closer to the center of the room. Then he lowered himself gracefully into the chair, swiftly unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did so. He crossed his legs, one over the other, folded his hands together in his lap, and regarded Chuck with an unchanging air of superiority and malice.

Chuck tried to remove all emotion from his face and force an expression of determination. Under Keuer's penetrating stare, it was suddenly easier. Keuer disgusted him; no matter what Keuer planned to do to him, he was not willing to give Keuer what he wanted. The question remained, of course, as to whether he'd be physically able to resist.

But that was a question for a slightly later time.

Keuer cocked his head ever so slightly from one side to the other. "So, Charlie, tell me: do you know why you're here?"

Chuck felt his upper lip twitch. "I can take a guess."

Keuer's smirk deepened. "That's good! That's very good! I like a man who can take a modicum of initiative."

Chuck instantly realized the comment for what it was: an insult wrapped in a compliment. Any moron, of course, could—and would—take a guess.

Keuer was a cold, sly, condescending, pompous bastard. It fueled his determination all the more.

"You are here," Keuer continued, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off his leg, "because you are the very embodiment of information."

 _Here it comes._

"You possess more knowledge than the CIA or the NSA, because in your head lie the secrets of _both_. And that," he said, lowering his chin slightly as his eyes pierced into Chuck's, "it a very beautiful and lucrative thing."

 _Lucrative._ _Beautiful._ Chuck felt his nostrils flare as he struggled to maintain an unshakeable exterior.

"The secrets in your head are worth _billions_ of dollars to the people that seek them, and I am, first and foremost, a businessman. I intend to capitalize on their demand, and _you_ provide the perfect supply. However," Keuer raised one finger from the hand resting on his knee, "I am prepared to make you an offer."

 _No. Whatever it is, no._

"Join me willingly, provide me with the information that I seek to sell, and you will see ten percent of the profits."

 _Ten percent. Of billions of dollars. Holy Hell._

"However, I must warn you that if you refuse, this offer will not come again."

As Keuer finished his proposal and resumed his dominating smirk, Chuck felt emotion tighten in his throat, and a weight like a ton of bricks seemed to drop into his stomach. Keuer had presented him an opportunity to choose between pain and plenty, and if it were truly that simple, he would have joined Keuer in a heartbeat.

But it wasn't that simple. No matter which option he chose, he knew that he would be under Keuer's control for many years to come, and that was a horror unto itself. Joining Keuer, he knew, came with devastating consequences: the loss of his integrity, the rise of terrorists, the fall of nations. But there was one consequence that stood out to him above the rest: He would be putting millions of lives, including Sarah's, at risk.

"No."

The word hung in the air for a full three seconds before Keuer made any motion to indicate he had heard it. His features hardened almost imperceptibly and one eyebrow twitched. He almost seemed to smile more, as though anticipating a fabulous show. "Are you absolutely sure?"

Chuck swallowed. "Yes."

Keuer's expression had become nothing less than a grin. He stood from his chair with a dramatic enthusiasm, and began to button his jacket again.

"Doctor Hurwitz," he announced, turning to the man standing by the table, "let us begin."


	6. Chapter 6

The weight of his decision immediately constricted his chest. He swallowed against a lump in his throat, unable to tear his eyes from the back of Keuer's jacket, until a flourish of movement drew his attention. Doctor Hurwitz turned from the table on his heel, eyes cold and emotionless, a stony scowl etching his features. His hand hovered at shoulder height, holding an intimidatingly large syringe filled with amber-colored liquid.

A shudder ran through his body. _Oh my God._

The doctor approached with the syringe, his footsteps measured and mechanical.

"What—what is that? What's in the syringe?"

The doctor flicked his eyes to Chuck's briefly, then dropped them to the IV line in Chuck's arm. Chuck automatically tried to pull away, but his wrist flexed harmlessly against his restraints. The doctor lifted the tubing and inserted the needle into the IV port.

"You—you're just gonna—are you not gonna answer me? Do you talk?"

The doctor lifted his eyes again and fixed Chuck with a menacing glare as he injected the unknown contents on the syringe into the IV line.

"Is—is that a 'yes,' or—or a 'no'? I've never been good at reading people, and—wow, that tastes funny—"

"The first thing I will have you look at," Keuer interrupted, "is a photograph."

Chuck immediately fell silent as his eyes snapped back to Keuer. He had retrieved the black portfolio and proceeded to pull out a single sheet of paper, glossy for effect. He regarded it momentarily with an expression of contempt and snapped the portfolio closed again. Chuck swallowed involuntarily.

"This was taken on a security camera at one of our warehouses in Vancouver. The Americans and Canadians paired together for a raid to capture a shipment of weapons we were moving into the states for distribution, led by this man."

Keuer flipped the photograph around and held it forward for Chuck to see, and Chuck immediately felt his eyelids flutter as he saw the man's face.

 _Mason Locklear, NSA; cover-named John Massengill; code-named Senator; age thirty-two; munitions and explosives expert; recruited out of the Naval Academy at age twenty; originally from Holly Springs, North Carolina; avid fan on the Carolina Panthers; married September 27, 2014 to Elise Overby Locklear, data analyst for the NSA; currently resides at 8909 Sherman Wilson Road, Apartment 13, Roseboro, Washington; currently on leave following a gunshot wound; witness in the NSA investigation of the raid; currently under protection with his wife at 278 Whitewater Lane, Burlington, Oregon; formal deposition to take place at NSA Headquarters on May 22._

Chuck gasped as his sense returned with a greater force than usual. His head was spinning with information, the images cycling in his mind again and again. The flash was over, but it was all he could think about. The rest of him felt…numb. He huffed out a breath and let his head fall backward, praying that this was all a horrible nightmare.

"I see you have now acquainted yourself with our patriotic friend."

Chuck lifted his head to look at Keuer. Keuer glanced at the photograph again, then back at Chuck, his signature smirk remaining in place. He swiftly opened the portfolio again, putting the photograph back in its place, and tucked the portfolio under his arm.

"I want you to tell me where he is."

Chuck let out a slow breath as Keuer stared him down. A very long, very strange moment of silence hung between them. Chuck's mind was still spinning in overdrive, but he found that he could quiet it somewhat by focusing on a Keuer's tie pin. It had a delicate design of silver and what looked to be sapphires.

 _I might be high_ , he realized. He traced his eyes back to Keuer's face. Keuer raised his eyebrows expectantly and slid his free hand leisurely into his pocket, as though he had all the time in the world.

 _And he probably does_.

Doctor Hurwitz suddenly appeared from behind Keuer, another syringe in hand.

Chuck felt his eyebrows pinch together in confusion. "Wait…wait, you already did that, remember?"

Keuer and the doctor chuckled simultaneously.

"That was only a preparation," Keuer said, turning away. "An appetizer, if you will."

"An appetizer?"

A deep voice broke the air as the doctor finally spoke. "A cocktail of propranolol, anxiolytics, antiemetics, and vitamins."

The only part Chuck understood was 'vitamins.'

"So…so what's that, then?"

"This," Keuer said, "is the main course."

Chuck glanced down in time to see the doctor depress the plunger on the syringe, then immediately turned away. The spinning in his head accelerated, the psychological panic reaching a peak. He knew he should be fighting. He should be doing _something_. But what was the point? As the strange taste returned briefly to his mouth, he knew the drug had entered his veins, and he felt resigned to the fact.

"There," he heard the doctor say. "It should only take a few moments for the compound to take effect."

"What effect?"

Keuer chuckled again, and Chuck's eyes flicked back to him.

"Why ruin the surprise?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Yes, we all know you're the smartest person in the room," he snapped. "You have all the answers. You hold all the power. We _know_ , okay? So just stop already."

Keuer raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Losing our inhibitions, are we?"

Chuck opened his mouth to retort, but he never got the chance. His breath hitched in his chest as a wave of pain rolled through his torso.

It was a dull kind of pain that built up, like an ache, but so much worse. Chuck screwed his eyes closed and bit down on his lip to keep himself from making any sound as the pain mounted. It began in his chest and moved quickly to his upper back; then rolled down his arms to his wrists; down his spine, one vertebra at a time; through his lower back and abdomen; and finally settled in his thighs. He was acutely aware that the entire process took only a few seconds, and after it had plateaued for a second or so, the pain slowly lessened and retreated to his solar plexus before disappearing entirely.

Chuck let go of the breath he'd been holding and let his head fall back as he panted for air, trying to regain his bearings. A shiver ran the length of his body; he couldn't tell if he felt hot or cold. He'd never felt anything like that before. He was just grateful that it was over, if only for the moment.

He suddenly realized that the room was completely silent. Summoning his strength, he lifted his head and forced himself to open his eyes. Keuer and Doctor Hurwitz both stood before him, arms crossed, wearing similar expressions of interest. Chuck cleared his throat, feeling vaguely nauseous, and looked away from them. He didn't know why, exactly, but he felt embarrassed and ashamed.

Finally, Keuer's voice broke the silence.

"So," he said, his voice softer than it had been only moments ago, "it begins."


	7. Chapter 7

Sarah startled from her fitful sleep with Chuck's name on her lips. Her gun appeared in her hand out of nowhere, and she was suddenly upright in her cot, panting heavily, aiming from one side of the tiny industrial room to the other. It took a moment for her to remember everything: _Keuer, Chuck, the maze, the shootout—_

A sharp pain pierced through her arm, and she winced. _The gunshot._

She lowered her left arm quickly from the weapon and cradled it to her side as she looked around. She was in one of the workrooms in Castle, dark but for a soft glow of light coming through the windowed door. She was sitting up in a foldable cot, a dark blanket covering her lower half. The front of her head ached violently. She raised a hand and graced her fingers over her forehead, lingering for a moment on a distinct lump over her right eye.

 _What time is it?_ She turned her left wrist to check her watch, pressing the backlight button to see the screen.

12:22 pm.

 _Damn painkillers_. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept that late. She raised her hand to rub her eyes. For all that sleep, one would think she'd feel less groggy. The pills made her feel like she had a hangover. She fought with herself for a moment, wondering if she should just pass out again.

The distant sound of chatter drew her attention toward the door, and she decided against sleep. She pulled the blanket away from her legs and slowly arranged them to take her weight. She took a deep breath and carefully stood, reaching for the wall to steady herself. After a brief head rush, she ran her fingers through her hair and made her way toward the door.

Sarah crept down the hall apprehensively, following the sound of voices toward the bullpen. As she neared, the voices became more intelligible, and she paused to listen. She could count four voices.

"—traced IP addresses across twenty-eight countries, including Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and Syria."

"Gorman, have you gotten anywhere with the latest encryption sequence?"

"The computer is still working through it. We have a handful of decrypted messages to work with, but the code evolves ten times per second using a complex algorithm with at least three million characters. Without the key, there's no telling how long it will take to crack."

"The Conductors must have the key."

"Yes, but we've never even been close to identifying them."

"We need to continue identifying potential associates. Leave no stone unturned."

"No," a fifth voice commanded, "we're racing against a clock. We don't have the time or the resources to comb through six billion people."

Sarah closed her eyes as she leaned against the wall, still hidden from view. She had no idea what the agents were talking about. Algorithms? Conductors? All she could think was that Chuck would have the answers.

 _If he were here_. She felt her lip pout minutely as emotion poured across her mind. She took a quick inhale and shook herself free of the thought. She forced herself to straighten her posture, pushed herself from the wall, and prepared to announce her presence to the agents.

"How's the trace coming on Walker's communications?"

Sarah froze in shock.

"She has a known history of communication with a conman by the name of Jack Burton. Perhaps Burton has moved into other areas of lucrative crime."

Sarah felt her cheeks flush with anger. Before she could stop herself, she rounded the corner and took a strong stance in the doorway.

"Jack Burton has got nothing to do with this," she articulated in her most authoritative voice.

Five agents—four men and one woman—immediately turned toward her voice, reaching instinctively for their weapons. Sarah didn't flinch. The only indication of anxiety she betrayed was a twitch in her eyebrows. She glared at each of the agents in turn, waiting for one of them to make a move.

"Agent Walker," one of the agents finally acknowledged her, releasing his hand from his weapon and crossing his arms over his chest. He was not especially tall or muscular, but he had broad shoulders and a kind of weathered substance about him that made him look intimidating. He looked to be about thirty years old. He had a modest crew cut of sandy blonde hair, a pronounced roman nose and a strong jawline. The faintest trace of a scar ran diagonally across his forehead, disappearing into his eyebrow and reappearing more distinctly at the bridge of his nose, as though he had narrowly avoided losing one of his piercing green eyes. "I hope you rested well. How are you recovering?"

Sarah regarded him with a hardened expression, ignoring his question. "Jack Burton," she repeated, "did _not_ abduct the Intersect."

The agent shrugged his eyebrows dismissively and turned partly away from her. "I'm afraid we can't take your word for it, Agent Walker. I've been instructed to find and recover the intersect at any and all costs, and I intend to follow every lead to the very end."

"Just not six billion peoples' worth," she countered. "Which begs the question: of all people, why are you wasting time looking into _my_ communications?"

The agent uncrossed his arms and slipped his hands into his pockets, thumbs hanging out. "Did you really expect me not to check into you and your partner?" He let the question hang for a second, then continued. "Our understanding is that Lionel Keuer had prior knowledge of the Intersect's identity. If that's the case, then we need to know exactly where he obtained his information."

"And how do I know that he didn't get it from one of you?" Sarah countered. "I don't know you. The General may have put you in charge, but you don't know the first thing about this team."

The agent removed one hand from his pocket and raised it to his head as though just remembering something. "You're absolutely right: you don't know me. Forgive my manners." He took a few strides toward her and extended his hand. "Agent Phillip Stone, CIA."

Sarah glanced down at his outstretched hand, then back toward his face. She made no movement whatsoever to accept his handshake.

"There," Agent Stone said, raising a finger briefly toward her face, as though he'd proven his point. He rocked backwards from one foot to the other and turned away. "You don't want to know me, and you don't want me to know you," he said as he paced back across the room. "But if you want to recover the Intersect, then that's going to become a very difficult position to maintain."

"Not half as difficult as the position you'll be in if you try to tear apart this team."

Two of the agents at the table raised their eyebrows at the threat and looked from Sarah to their leader, as though waiting to see what he would do. Stone turned his head back toward Sarah, a strange expression of disbelief and amusement upon his face. He contemplated her for a moment, then chuckled and shook his head.

"You know, Agent Walker, you are the very epitome of your reputation."

His statement caught Sarah off-guard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," the Stone squared himself toward her again, "that I always try to have an open mind about other operatives, regardless of what I've heard about them. But you're every bit the pithy, misanthropic bulldog I've heard about."

Sarah felt her nostrils flare. She wanted to lash back at him. She wanted to yell, or leap across the room and attack him. Her head was throbbing so hard that she couldn't think. Her very core was trembling in fury. It took every ounce of willpower she had left not to snap. The pain in her arm intensified, and she realized that she had just balled her hands into fists.

"I'll tell you what," Stone said, scratching at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, "since I'm here, in part, to investigate this team and ensure there are no leaks in your security, it seems only fair that you get to investigate me."

Sarah blinked once, but otherwise did not move.

"It's my understanding from General Beckman that you'll need to be cleared by a doctor before returning to work," Stone continued, gesturing toward Sarah's arm, "but I don't think you'll be able to wait that long, so here's what you can do: take your 'time off' to investigate me. Look into all of my files, dig up every dirty secret you can find, ask me every question you can imagine. Unless I find a reason to believe you're a traitor, you'll have unrestricted access through the CIA mainframe. Then, when you're satisfied, and I'm satisfied, we can bring Agent Carmichael home."

Sarah felt her expression soften as he spoke. It was a fair offer, and one that she didn't expect.

"I have no desire to tear your team apart, Agent Walker. My team is my lifeline." Stone gestured toward the other agents, who sat quietly at the table. "We can anticipate each other's every move. We know each other's strengths and weaknesses. I trust them with my life. Believe me, I would never _want_ to break up a good team; but in the interest of national security, I am obligated to do my due diligence."

Sarah regarded Agent Stone for another moment, her lips pursed, then quickly nodded once in agreement. She forced herself to take a breath, and she softened her voice just enough to maintain concurrence as she asked her next question. "Who are the Conductors?"

The agents around the table looked toward Stone once again. Stone narrowed his eyes and licked his lower lip as he decided whether to allow the question. After a moment, he lowered his eyes to one of his agents and nodded his approval before turning away.

"The Conductors," the agent supplied, "are operators of an international criminal superhighway of information and communication known as the Underground."


	8. Chapter 8

Chuck panted at the ground, at a complete loss for words. There was nothing to say, because Keuer had said it all: _It begins._

He screwed his eyes closed as tightly as he could, willing the world to dissolve. _This can't be happening. This cannot be happening._ Yet when he chanced to open his eyes again, he was still staring at the same floor, both arms strapped into the same chair.

"The rules," he heard Keuer say, "are as follows: you will tell me whatever it is that I want to know. Once you have done so, Doctor Hurwitz will administer the counteragent. The longer you take to supply the information, the longer the pain will last."

Chuck swallowed, trying to stop himself from vomiting. "And what if I don't?"

"Oh, you will."

Keuer seemed so certain that it made him even more nervous.

"The compound," Doctor Hurwitz supplied, "has a half-life of forty-two hours. When that time has passed, I will administer another dose, should it be necessary."

 _Forty-two hours._

"Indeed," Keuer affirmed, "and the good doctor has assured me that he can keep you in perfect health while you are undergoing…treatment."

Chuck raised his head just far enough to look at Keuer's face. Keuer was smirking, but not in the condescending way he usually did. No, this looked more like pure delight. Like giddiness. Like sadism.

He expected to feel disgust, or anger; but he hardly felt anything at all. He just felt tired. The vitamins and whatever-the-hell-else that were in the first injection suddenly made much more sense.

An ache started in his chest again, and he took a sharp inhale in anticipation. _No, no, no, no, no…_

"Oh, God," he groaned quietly between clenched teeth. The pain was building faster this time, and stronger, too. His hands gripped the arms of the wheelchair tightly as he rocked forward and back a few times, trying continuously to readjust to the pain. Suddenly the muscles in his back contracted sharply, and his body automatically drew in a seething breath and leaned back as far as it could to relieve the pain. He found himself looking up at the ceiling as he panted shallowly, high-pitched cries of pain punctuating each breath between his teeth. Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes, sweat beading on his forehead. The pain continued to pitch higher until his cries turned into one, long desperate keen.

 _I can't do this! I can't do this! Oh, my Gooood!_

He was out of air. His entire body was screaming. The aching feeling was turning sharp all over. Every part of him was quivering, and the beads of sweat and tears began to run down his face.

 _Kill me. Just kill me now. I can't do this._

He had no idea how long it had been when the pain finally began its retreat and his body allowed him a loud gasp of air. His head was spinning. The tips of his fingers and toes were tingling. He was shaking uncontrollably.

"Fuck."

He was not one prone to using true profanity. He usually left that to Casey and, on occasion, Sarah. But right now, there were no other words.

 _End it,_ his brain told him. _End it all, right now._

No.

He felt like his ears should be rushing, but they weren't. He distinctly heard the click of a tongue echo in the bare room.

"Well," Keuer said, "I would stay to watch the show, but right now, I am _famished_."

 _Food,_ Chuck lamented. He knew he wouldn't get any of that for a while. Not as long as he held his tongue. He rolled his head to the side slightly, just enough that he could see Keuer at the bottom of his vision.

Keuer cocked his head to the side, the same direction Chuck had. He pouted his lip the tiniest bit at Chuck in mock empathy. Then he straightened up and directed his attention to the doctor. "I'm going to have some lunch. You know how to reach me."

He turned to leave, but he paused before he reached to door. He turned leisurely, one hand in his pocket, his eyes wandering upward as he considered his meal. "I'm thinking…steak." He let a moment pass, then nodded, as if he'd made up his mind, and turned again. "Filet Mignon," he mused loudly as he entered the combination on the door. He pulled the door open and breezed away without looking back again.

Chuck let out a heavy sign as the door slammed closed. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back again, enjoying the silence while it lasted. His body was still trembling from its latest ordeal. He tried desperately to keep himself from thinking. He didn't want to think. He wanted to be free of his thoughts.

 _You can't go through that again_.

I have to.

 _No, you don't._

It's not an option.

 _You don't know him._

Yes, I do.

 _You've never met him._

That doesn't matter.

 _End it._

His life is in my hands. And his wife's.

 _End it._

It will never end.

 _So what's the point of resisting?_

Chuck took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What _was_ the point of resisting? It was a matter of choosing one pain over another. He felt tears of emotion, rather than pain, start to well up in his eyes. _Damned if I do_ , he thought, _and damned if I don't_.

The sound of footsteps, followed by the sharp ripping of Velcro, pulled him starkly back to the physical world. His eyes flew open and he raised his head just as Doctor Hurwitz appeared beside him. He tried to jerk away—to no avail—as the doctor reached down and wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around Chuck's upper arm.

"What-why?" he rasped. He swallowed. His throat felt dry.

The doctor's eyes flicked to his. "To monitor your blood pressure."

 _Well, obviously._

He didn't press the question. He just watched helplessly as the doctor plugged the tubing into a computer—the kind that was mounted on a cart, like they use in hospitals to monitor vital signs. He reached down again and clipped a pulse-ox meter onto Chuck's finger.

 _Fabulous._ He leaned forward a little to see what the screen said, but with a knowing glace, Doctor Hurwitz turned the cart so that the monitor was just out of view. He pressed a button, and Chuck felt the cuff start to tighten around his arm.

 _This is ridiculous._

When the pressure released, and Chuck watched the doctor closely for information. The doctor smiled minutely and nodded his head, then turned to walk away.

"Is that—is that good?"

"Your blood pressure and heart ratel," the doctor answered in an amused tone as he lowered himself into the chair, "are perfectly normal."

Chuck's felt his face screw up in confusion. _How?_

But the question rising to his lips died before he could ask it; his chest had begun to tighten again.

This was going to be a very, very long forty-two hours.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello, my loyal friends. I am delighted to have the time to write chapters with more regularity, and I think now is a good time to start answering some of your questions.**

 **Firstly: When in cannon does this story take place? I'm going with early Season 3, I guess. Definitely after the Intersect 2.0, and definitely before Shaw makes an appearance. I actually kind of like to think of this story as taking place** ** _instead_** **of the Shaw story arc in terms of Chuck's character development. That's not to say I don't love Shaw and his contribution to the story, because I think his entire character and story arc is a work of art. But if I have to put this story on a timeline, that's just where it lands.**

 **Secondly: Are these characters based on other characters or people from my life? No, they are not. In my head, Keuer is a combination of a bunch of bad guys from a bunch of different stories, but I intentionally left him under-described so that the individual reader could envision him they way they wanted to. The same goes for Doctor Hurwitz.**

 **Thirdly: Is this story inspired by another story on FanFiction? Not really. I've seen some version of the "torture by injection"plot in several places, so that part's not an original idea. However, the overall plot of this story is original, and the writing pulls far more from my personal life than it does from other stories. My interpretation of Chuck's torture and pain, as well as Sarah's, comes from my physical and emotional pain at different times in my life. It might be cliche, but it's true.**

 **Lastly: Have I thought about writing a book? Yes. Yes, I have. I write on FanFiction as an outlet, because it's fun and easy, but I spend most of my mental energy writing original works. If it were at all feasible, I would be a professional novelist in a heartbeat. However, it just hasn't been an option for me and my family. We need a steady income, and I'd rather work my ass off to save up money for my kids than chase a fantasy. HOWEVER: thanks to the dreaded virus, I am currently out of work, and I'm starting to wonder if I should give fiction writing a solid go. I would greatly appreciate your honest input here, loyal readers: do you think that my writing ability is good enough to publish, for real?**

 **And now I'll get out of the way. None of you came here to read about my personal musings; you came to read about Chuck.**

 _The Underground_.

The new information sank in slowly, and a corresponding, uncontrollable tension rose up within her as she processed it. _An international criminal organization is using Chuck as a source of information_. This wasn't just personal—of course, she knew that it never was—but this had just become a full-on global crisis.

She was suddenly afraid that Chuck, as a person, was going to become obsolete.

 _Be a spy, Walker_ , she told herself. Emotion was not her friend right now. She bit down on her bottom lip as she focused on the mantra. Questions began spinning in her head, one after another, and she didn't know which one to ask first.

 _Be a spy first._

It was as if all of her training had culminated to this point, right here, right now.

 _You are a spy first._

She suddenly remembered her conversation with Chuck, right after he'd downloaded the Intersect 2.0. She thought about her words, what they had meant to her at the time, and, more importantly, what they meant to her now.

 _I want to be a real person, again._

But a real person couldn't save Chuck. Not right now.

A slim clarity overcame her emotions. _I am a spy first_. Her eyes focused again on the agents with her in the room. They were all staring at her intently, waiting for her reaction. She cleared her throat and forced herself to ask one of the only questions her spy mind thought worth asking.

"Why have we never heard of them before?"

Stone stepped forward, interrupting his agent just as he was opening his mouth to answer. "This information," he said, his tone dark and serious, "is classified at the highest level."

"So is the Intersect."

"Indeed," Stone conceded, "indeed, it is, for this exact reason. Agent Carmichael's identity has remained top-secret in order to prevent a scenario just like this one."

"So we need to apprehend a mole?"

Stone dipped his head to one side. "Yes," he said, "and no. Our primary objective is to recover the Intersect. The mole may have information about his whereabouts, or he may not. Unfortunately, we don't know yet."

"Then we need to apprehend Keuer," Sarah took an edge in her voice again, "which is what we've been trying to do all along."

"Again," Stone countered, "yes and no. As of yet, we have not confirmed Lionel Keuer's association with the Underground."

Sarah exhaled and raised her right hand to her forehead in exasperation. She took in a shaky breath, trying to control her rising anger. "Then why," she articulated, "is this Underground network relevant?"

"Agent Walker—"

"Why are you wasting time and resources trying to crack encryptions and algorithms that have nothing to do with Keuer, or with Chuck?"

"Agent Walker, control your temper, please."

Sarah blew out a sharp breath and looked up at the ceiling. _I am a spy first_. She let her eyes fall closed as she rolled her head side to side, trying to ease some of the pain in her head. _I am a spy first_.

"I apologize," she said as she lowered her eyes to Agent Stone again. She licked her lip and cleared her throat. "What I meant was: how does the Underground relate to Agent Carmichael's abduction."

Agent Stone gave her the tiniest nod in appreciation. Then he directed his gaze down at another of his agents. "Bremmer?"

"While we do not believe that Keuer is a part of the network yet, we believe that he is in contact with, or attempting to contact, one of the Conductors and intends to use the Underground as a means to sell government intelligence gleaned from the Intersect."

Sarah nodded. Keuer was, after all, a very successful businessman.

"Why can't we identify the Conductors?"

"Because there are so few of them," Bremmer answered. "The Underground is kept highly secret, even in the criminal world. It links individual criminal organizations together as a means of communication, but only one person in each organization—the Conductor—is permitted access."

Sarah felt her eyebrows raise. "And I take it the Conductors' identities are secret as well?"

"Anonymity is how the Underground stays in business."

"So," Sarah asked, "who's in charge of the Underground? Who regulates it? Who organized it?"

The agents looked around at each other again, a palpable uneasiness settling over the table. After a moment, Stone cleared his throat, and Sarah met his eyes again.

"Unfortunately, we don't know," Stone admitted. "Whoever he is, he runs an extremely tight ship. As far as we can tell, no one knows who he is, not even the Conductors."

Sarah took a deep inhale and let it out slowly. She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose as she tried to think. Her headache was growing worse by the moment.

"So, if Keuer has no clear ties to the Underground, what's our next move?"

"Well," Stone sighed, "we're still attempting to locate and track all of his known associates, no matter how thin the connection is. We're pursuing the Underground angle as a precaution, in the event we intercept messages pertaining to the Intersect or Keuer stops advertising on the open market; but as of now, our primary target is locating Keuer."

Sarah nodded and huffed out a breath, still rubbing circles into the sides of her nose.

"Agent Walker?"

She pulled her hand away from her face and looked up at Stone. He was regarding her with a solemn expression, his eyes examining her movements with concern. She knew what he was going to say before he even drew a breath to say it.

"You need to rest."

"I'm fine."

"Agent Walker," Stone repeated with a little more force, "you need to rest. You're in pain, and there's nothing you can do to help Agent Carmichael right now. When the time comes, I'll need you fit enough to infiltrate Keuer's evil lair to retrieve the Intersect."

Sarah swallowed. _And?_

"And," Stone continued with a slight dip of his head, as though answering her un-asked question, "my team still needs to clear your security before you can officially join the investigation."

Sarah nodded curtly. _There it is_. Still, Stone was entirely correct: she was in pain. The wound in her arm was throbbing in unison with the pain building in her head. She could feel the muscles in her legs beginning to quiver. As much as she wanted to, she knew that she couldn't stay to argue with Stone any longer without collapsing.

Stone read her next thoughts precisely. "If we find anything out about Keuer or Agent Carmichael's whereabouts, I will let know you directly."

Sarah nodded again. "Thank you," she said, and she started to turn toward the door.

"Oh, uh, Agent Walker," Stone said, "I almost forgot."

Sarah turned back toward the agent just in time to see him pull a small, orange bottle from his pocket. He raised it up briefly to show it to her, then slowly pitched it underhand across the room. Sarah's reflexes kicked in just in time to snatch the bottle out of the air, and she immediately recognized the painkillers she had taken the night before. She raised her eyes again to Stone.

"Take them," he urged gently, pushing his hands down into his pockets. "Gunshot wounds are a bitch."

Sarah allowed herself a small chuckle at his words and nodded in agreement, turning away. As she left the bullpen, she was startled to see Casey listening just out of sight, his back pressed to the wall, just as she had a few minutes before.

"Agent Casey," she heard Stone call out behind her, "that goes for you, too."

Casey let out a low growl. Sarah raised an eyebrow at him, offering no further sentiments as she walked by, as steadily as she could, toward her temporary bedroom down the hall.


	10. Chapter 10

Morgan blew out a breath as he raised his phone to his ear. "Come on, Chuck, come on, come on, come on…"

" _Hey, this is Chuck. You know what to—_ "

Morgan ended the call before the voicemail greeting had even finished, tossing his phone down onto the Nerd Herd desk in frustration. He leaned his head down onto a fisted hand. He hoped Chuck's date with Sarah last night had gone really, _really_ well, because he was leaving his best friend and brand-new Assistant Manager out to dry.

"Excuse me, sir."

Morgan hurried to stand up straight, giving the bottom of his vest a quick tug. A dumpy soccer-mom-ish woman stood before him, looking grumpy and displeased.

"Yes, ma'am, how can I help you?"

"I've been trying to get someone to help me with a new refrigerator, but there doesn't seem to be anyone around. What am I supposed to do to get some service around here?"

 _And where the hell is Casey?_

"Yes, ma'am, I'm so sorry about that. I'll call someone to help you right away."

"No, actually, I want to talk to your manager to file a complaint. The customer service in this store is abysmal."

"Uh…" Morgan cleared his throat nervously, trying to find his words. "Well, actually, ma'am, I'm the Assistant Manager of this store, and it's my job to handle the customer complaints."

The lady raised a groomed eyebrow at him. "You?"

"Uh…yes, ma'am." He cleared his throat again. "I'm so sorry to hear that you've had a negative experience in our store. We're a bit short-handed today, but I'm going to send a green shirt to help you with a new refrigerator immediately, and uh… I'll let them know at the front that you'll have a ten percent discount on your purchase today."

The woman narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned over to pull the intercom microphone across the desk. He cleared his throat and pressed the button, and his voice echoed across the store. "Corey Wheeler, customer needs assistance immediately in large appliances. Corey Wheeler, customer needs assistance immediately in large appliances." He lifted his finger from the button and straightened up again, putting on the best customer-service smile he could muster

"Someone should be there to assist you momentarily, ma'am. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

The woman's lip twitched. "No," she said shortly and turned on her heel toward the large appliances section.

Morgan let the smile fall from his face as he watched her stomp away. This was precisely what he didn't need today. Lester's minions were starting to go crazy, and Chuck and Casey were both MIA. He glared down at his phone, trying to figure out what to do. Chuck's phone was going straight to voicemail, but if he was still with Sarah…

He seized the phone and started to scroll through his contacts. He raised the phone to his ear again, breathing a sigh of relief when he heard the line ringing.

" _Hello?"_

"Hey! Hey, Sarah, it's Morgan!"

 _"Oh!"_ she exclaimed in surprise. " _Morgan! Hi!_ "

"Yeah, hey listen, is Chuck still with you? Because he didn't come home last night, and he didn't show up to work today, and we're kind of lost here without our best Nerd Herder."

" _Oh! Oh my goodness, I completely forgot to call you!_ " Her voice sounded vaguely strained. " _Chuck, uh, came down with a really nasty bug last night on our date."_

"Oh."

" _Yeah. He's still feeling really bad, he can't keep anything down. He told me to call you to let you know, but it completely slipped my mind!"_

"Yeah, yeah, ok, no worries. So he's, uh, he's still with you?"

" _Yeah, he's actually, uh, here, at my place. He didn't want to go home and get you sick, too, so I'm looking after him here._ "

"O…kay…."

 _"Yeah. I'm really sorry I forgot to call you."_

"Oh, no, it's fine, it's…things happen, you know? It's no big deal, don't worry about it. But hey, uh, can you just, uh, put him on the phone for a second?"

 _"Umm… you know what, he's actually asleep right now."_

"Oh."

 _"Yeah. He was up most of the night, you know, and I-I don't want to wake him."_

"Oh. Nasty bug, huh?"

Sarah chuckled into the phone. _"Yeah, uh, it was pretty bad."_

"Okay, well I'll let you go… uh, clean your bathroom. But first, uh, one more question."

 _"Yeah?"_

"Do you happen to know where John Casey is today?"

 _"Casey?"_

"Yeah, 'cause I know that you and Chuck hang out with him sometimes, and, uh, he hasn't come in today either, so—"

" _You know_ ," Sarah interrupted, clearing her throat again, " _I think he said something about going to visit his mom today."_

"His mom?"

" _Yeah._ "

"Wow. I mean, I didn't even know that Casey had a…. a mom…" Morgan shook his head. That didn't make any sense.

" _O…kay. Well, if that's all, I have some things I need to get done. I mean, like you said, my bathroom's not gonna clean itself."_

"Yeah, no, of course, you should get right on that. Just, do me a favor and tell Chuck I called and, uh... I hope he feels better."

 _"Thanks, I will."_

"Okay, see you—"

The line clicked as Sarah hung up on him before he could finish. He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it apprehensively.

"—soon. That was weird."

He slid the phone into his pocket again, playing the conversation over in his head. He didn't exactly know why, but he wasn't sure he believed everything Sarah had said.

Suddenly, he caught view of Lester hovering around one of the endcaps suspiciously, his knees bent out to the sides like a deformed crab, his head bobbing side to side as he tried to creep awkwardly into the next aisle.

 _Whatever,_ Morgan dismissed Chuck and Sarah from his mind as he prepared to go moron-hunting. If Chuck had ditched him because he was gettin' some with his lady, then all the more power to him. He had other things to worry about.


	11. Chapter 11

Sarah hung up on Morgan in the middle of his sentence, letting the sickly fake smile slide from her face. He'd sounded suspicious, like he didn't quite believe her, and he'd noticed that Casey was gone, too. Her hand dropped to her lap, a new anxiety sinking into her chest. She hadn't even thought about what to tell Ellie and Morgan about Chuck's absence.

She was acutely aware that Casey was standing in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame, but she couldn't bring herself to look up at him. She sat on the edge of her cot, staring blankly at the opposite wall, waiting for him to say something first.

"So," he finally started, and she saw him shift uneasily in the doorway, "the little bearded moron is asking questions?"

Sarah nodded and dropped her eyes to her cell phone, still cradled in her hand.

"I'm not so sure that's going to be a sustainable cover."

Sarah closed her eyes and exhaled. Her head was still pounding. Contrary to Stone's recommendation, she hadn't taken the painkillers; the brain fog had been necessary last night to get some sleep, but she wasn't willing to battle it now.

"I had to tell him something."

"Oh, I know," Casey affirmed. "Don't get me wrong, it was good improvising." He shifted again, wincing audibly as his broken ribs moved. "I mean, all things considered."

Sarah drew a forceful breath and opened her eyes to glare at him. "Can I do something for you, Casey?"

Casey's eyebrow twitched minutely as he stared back at her. A moment passed before his bruised face softened, his voice dropping to a slightly lower pitch as he took on a subtle air of sympathy. "I was going to ask you how you were feeling."

"Like I got shot. You?"

"Like I got my ass handed to me by half a dozen mercenaries."

"I thought you won that fight."

"I did. Eventually."

Sarah allowed the corner of her mouth to twitch very briefly into a half smile, her gaze wandering back to the wall as she returned her thoughts to the dilemma at hand. What was she supposed to say when Chuck didn't "recover" tomorrow? Or ever?

"We need to talk to Beckman about a cover," Casey said.

Sarah nodded. He'd spoken her exact thoughts. _No time like the present._ She pulled in another breath and slowly stood from the cot, grimacing as her head throbbed with the effort. A momentary wave of nausea came over her and she swallowed, closing her eyes until her equilibrium leveled.

"Stone and his agents are still in the bullpen," Casey said as Sarah began to make her way toward him. "We'll have to use another room."

"We could tell him to get the hell out for a few minutes."

"We shouldn't piss him off, Walker," Casey reasoned lowly as he moved out of the doorway to let her through. "Stone's a good agent, just doing his job."

Sarah sighed. "I know."

Casey grunted as she walked by him and turned to follow her down the hall. "We'll use the comms in the training room."

Sarah tucked her injured arm into her side to reduce the motion as she walked. A few minutes lying down had helped her coordination somewhat, but she wasn't sure how long it would last. She turned toward the stairway leading down to the dojo and descending the stairs carefully, blocking out Casey's pained grunts as he followed her. She emerged onto the training floor and turned to face the blank screen on the wall. With a glance back at Casey as he took his place beside her, she swallowed one last time to clear emotion from her voice and spoke to the automated communication system.

"Agent Sarah Walker for General Beckman."

The screen immediately lit up to display the general, busying over paperwork on her desk. She turned her head at the sound of the communication chime, her brow furrowed as she took in Casey and Sarah standing in the training room.

"Colonel Casey, Agent Walker," she acknowledged tensely.

"General."

"I trust you are recovering?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. What can I do for you?"

Sarah cleared her throat. "General, I've just received a call from Chuck's friend, Morgan. He's asking questions about Chuck's whereabouts."

The general's expression didn't change; it remained just as tense and unreadable as before. "I see. And what did you tell him?"

"I had to improvise. I told him that Chuck had come down with a bad stomach virus, and that he was recuperating at my apartment."

General Beckman nodded once, her lips pursing briefly. "I'm afraid that story won't last more than a day or two."

"Yes, ma'am, that's why we're calling. We wanted to know what we should tell his friends and employer and… and his sister."

"I'm way ahead of you, Agent Walker. I've had people working on a cover for his disappearance since his abduction last night."

Sarah licked her bottom lip apprehensively. "May I ask, General, what the cover will be?"

The General gave her a serious look over the top of her spectacles as she considered Sarah's question. After a moment, she seemed to come to a decision and raised her head again. "Very well." She reached up to take of her glasses as she sat back in her chair, her expression solemn. "I'd intended to tell you this later, but now is as good a time as any. The cover is that Chuck Bartowski has died in a car accident."

Sarah felt her face flood with surprise, followed immediately by panic. "General…"

"Agent Walker, please let me finish."

Sarah closed her mouth and swallowed her objections. "Yes, ma'am."

"I've had one of our teams make a convincing replica of Mr. Bartowski to serve as his… corpse. The body is already en route to Burbank. Tonight, his sister will be informed that he's been in a car accident, and that he died on impact. She'll be allowed to see him and arrange a funeral for him, and no one need ever know of his involvement with the government."

Sarah struggled to maintain a neutral face as the general divulged the plan. She could feel a heat rising into her chest and cheeks that she couldn't explain. She wasn't angry, or scared; she supposed that it was the prospect of having to tell such a big lie to Ellie that upset her. _I was a bridesmaid in her wedding, for Christ's sake!_ She felt her mouth fall open to respond without knowing what she was going to say, but Casey interrupted her before she could get the first word out.

"General, if I may," Casey said, "what happens when we recover the Intersect and bring him back?"

" _If_ we recover the Intersect," General Beckman corrected him, "then this will allow him to assume a new identity and work wherever we need him, as a _real_ spy."

"Ma'am, I'm not comfortable with this," Sarah finally managed to find her words. "It's incredibly unfair to Chuck. If he comes back alive, he'll never be able to see his family again."

"I understand, Agent Walker, but this plan has already been in place for two years. Since Mr. Bartowski first acquired the Intersect, there has _always_ been a chance that he would have to disappear."

"I know that, ma'am, but—"

"But nothing, Agent Walker," the general interrupted her forcefully. "Chuck Bartowski will die tonight. End of discussion."

Sarah gulped as the words struck her, trying not to let herself cry. "Yes, ma'am."

"When the body arrives in Burbank, everything will be arranged at the hospital, and Agent Stone will make the call. Agent Walker, since you are visibly injured, you will maintain your cover by saying that you were in the accident as well."

Sarah nodded stiffly.

"And Colonel Casey," she continued, "you will need to come up with a suitable excuse for an extended absence from work."

"On it, General."

General Beckman flicked her eyes between Casey and Sarah for a moment. "Do either of you have any questions?"

"No, ma'am."

She shifted her gaze down to her hands, folded tightly on her desk, her expression softening slowly. "I'm sorry that it has come to this," she said as she raised her head again, her tone uncharacteristically sincere, "but I'm afraid it must be done. You have your orders."

The screen went dark before either of them could respond.


	12. Chapter 12

All five of his senses were overwhelmingly sharp.

Every sound in the room was deafening: every drop of water from the faucet in the corner; the constant scratching of pencil on paper as the doctor took his notes; every rustle of fabric and creak from the chair when either of them moved. The fluorescent lights overhead pierced through his eyes and drilled holes into his skull. The antiseptic smell in the air burned the inside of his nose with every breath. The sharp, metallic taste of blood prickled over his tongue and coated his throat. Between his bouts of agony, he could feel every thread in his shirt scratching over his skin.

He let a shuddering breath seethe through his teeth and quickly drew it in again, holding it for just a moment before he repeated the process. He didn't know how many times he'd done it; just that it seemed, in some small way, to help. He focused on the chill in his front teeth as he pulled fresh air over them, the gentle stretch in his chest as it rose and fell. It was all he could do not to focus on the intense sensitivity that fluttered over his skin.

He remembered one of his buddies in college—Jeremy—telling him about a bad trip. He'd said that instead of going fuzzy and relaxed like he'd wanted to, his senses had attacked him with a vengeance. Everything was big and loud and smothering.

He hadn't understood anything that Jeremy told him at the time, but he sure as hell did now.

An all-too-familiar warmth began to bloom within his chest.

 _Here goes._

He didn't have the energy or willpower to fight the pain anymore. He knew that he was yelling, but he didn't care. He could feel each individual nerve ending in his body firing, every muscle contracting of its own accord. The room felt unbearably hot, the air unbearably thick; it felt like he was trying to breath cotton. He focused intently on all of these things rather than on wishing it was all over. He knew that it would pass in a minute.

When his body finally relaxed and the pain drained slowly from his limbs, he breathed a contented sigh of relief. He was familiar with the concept of a runner's high and imagined that this was what it must feel like. The faintest of smiles tugged at his lips as he panted for air. He knew that some part of his mind must have broken if he was enjoying this, even a tiny bit; the very idea would normally disgust him and probably make him physically sick. But right now, at this very moment, the brief rush of endorphins was all he had to stay sane, and he even found himself looking forward to it.

He returned his attention to his teeth, chanting his breathing pattern in his head. _In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out._

As long as all his attention was tuned to his physical world, he wasn't thinking about Mason Locklear. It was his one accomplishment of the day.


	13. Chapter 13

Ellie snuggled into Devon's side on the couch, rubbing her hand over his chest as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm so glad we finally have a night to ourselves."

"I told you I was gonna make it happen, babe, and I meant it."

She smiled to herself as her husband planted a loving kiss on top of her head.

"Still," she looked up at him, "thank you." She rested her head back on his shoulder and returned her attention to Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.

" _How nice: you remembered," Ilsa said. "But of course, that was the day the Germans marched into Paris."_

" _Not an easy day to forget," Rick replied. "I remember every detail: the Germans wore grey; you wore blue."_

 _"Yes. I put that dress away. When the Germans march out, I'll wear it again."_

Ellie could feel Devon's eyes on her. She knew that he didn't understand why she loved this movie so much, and she couldn't completely explain it herself. She supposed it had to do with Rick's change of heart when Ilsa explained why she left him. Or perhaps it was the sacrifice he made for her, knowing that he'd never see her again.

She rubbed her hand over Devon's chest again. She didn't have to understand it, and neither did he. She already knew that he'd do anything for her.

Suddenly, her phone started to ring, and she let out an exasperated sigh, unwilling to move from her spot next to Devon. She should have known from experience that this was going to happen.

"Sometimes," she groaned as she pushed herself upright, "I wish I weren't a doctor, just so I could get through one movie."

She crawled the length of the couch to dig into her purse on the side table, frowning at the screen of her cell phone as she pulled it out.

"Huh. It's not a number I recognize."

"Then just ignore it, babe."

She debated for half a second. Devon's suggestion was tempting, but the call had already disturbed her from her relaxation. She might as well answer it, or she'd wonder about it all night.

"Hello?"

" _May I speak with Ellie Woodcomb, please?"_

"Speaking."

" _Ms. Woodcomb, this is Sergeant Garber with the Los Angeles Police Department."_

Ellie's blood immediately ran cold.

" _I'm calling because you're listed in Charles Bartowski's phone as his emergency contact."_

 _Oh no_. "Yes, yes, uh, Chuck is my brother." She tried to swallow her anxiety as she leapt up from the couch. "What is it? What's happened?"

 _"I'm afraid your brother's been involved in an accident. We'll need you to come down to USC Medical Center right away."_

"Yes, yes, of course. I'll be right there." She ended the call and threw the phone back into her purse. She grabbed her sweatshirt from the back of the couch and started to pull it over her head. "Devon, we gotta go. We gotta go right now!"

Devon was already trying to pull his shoes over his feet, laces be damned. "What's going on?"

"Chuck's been in an accident, he's on his way to the hospital." Ellie slipped her feet into the flats she'd kicked off beside the couch and started digging in her purse again.

"Well, how bad is it?"

"Bad enough that they called his emergency contact. Where the _hell_ are the keys?"

"Babe, I got 'em."

"Ok, then go! Out the door, out the door!"

The two of them rushed out into the courtyard. Ellie started toward the road, turning back after a moment when she realized that Devon wasn't right beside her.

"Devon, come on! What are you doing?"

Devon looked up at her incredulously, his key in the lock. "Babe, I gotta lock the door!" He fought with the lock for a moment in his rush.

"Devon, I don't care about thieves right now!"

"El, you gotta calm down," he said as he gave the door another tug to line up the deadbolt. "Chuck's life doesn't depend on us being ten seconds late."

Ellie huffed out a panicked breath as she waited for him. It seemed to take forever before he finally managed to turn the key, and when he did, she turned and took off toward the road again without waiting for him.

As she burst out onto the street, she narrowly avoided colliding with some poor unfortunate soul who didn't know what he'd walked into. She managed to put on the brakes enough that she only grazed the man's arm. From the corner of her eye, she saw Devon veer around the man on the other side. As she turned to look at Devon, she realized that it was Morgan they'd run into, just as he was coming home from work.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Morgan exclaimed as he shrank in on himself, trying not to get hit. He chuckled a little as he straightened up and recognized Devon and Ellie. "Easy, guys! Where's the fire?"

"Chuck's been hurt," they answered in unison, and Devon sped away toward the car. Ellie turned to follow him, but Morgan caught her by the arm as he comprehended what they'd just said.

"Whoa, whoa, I'm sorry, what?"

"Chuck was in an accident, we're on our way to the hospital!"

Morgan's face went completely blank, his grip on her arm loosening. She pulled her arm away from him and took off again after her husband until she heard Morgan call after her. "Wait, wait, Ellie!"

"What, Morgan?" she spat as she spun around to face him again. She was already several yards away from him down the sidewalk, and she was already swearing to herself that if anything non-Chuck-related came out of his mouth, she would make him regret it for the rest of his days.

Morgan fumbled briefly over his words, his mouth gaping in surprise. "I—I'm coming with you!"

For a split-second, she prepared to refuse; it was habitual at this point to refuse anything that Morgan asked. Then, as she actually registered his words and took in the panicked look in his eyes—a look that she was sure mirrored her own—she felt her glare soften. "Yeah," she whispered, and motioned him to come with her. "Yeah, of course, come on."

Ellie and Morgan reached the car just as the engine turned over. They wrenched the doors open and threw themselves into the seats, Ellie in the front and Morgan in the back.

"USC Medical Center. Drive!" Ellie ordered at Devon before she'd even closed the door.

"Babe, put your seatbelt on."

"Damn it, Devon, drive!"

Devon turned sharply from the wheel, his face crunching into the kind of glare she never saw from him. "Seatbelt first!" he snapped at her.

She was stunned into silence for a moment, then hurried to pull the door closed. She pulled the seatbelt down and clipped it at her side, tears beginning to spring to her eyes. The car began to move as Devon pulled out onto the road.

"Ellie—"

"Don't," she interrupted him, her voice shaking. "I know." She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to keep herself from crying. Devon was right: the very last thing he needed was for her to die in a car wreck, too. She blew the breath out between pursed lips. "I'm calming down."

Devon nodded, keeping his eyes on the road as he urged the speedometer over the speed limit.

The car remained silent for the rest of the drive.


End file.
